


The Angel and the Slytheryn

by FisherTaiga



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Aziraphale is a Hufflepuff, Crowley is Slytheryn (duh), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, The Arrangement (Good Omens), The Arrangement but It's Trash and I'm Sorry, The Idea Hit Me Like a Bag of Bricks, Unfortunate Harry Potter AU, couldn't get it out of my head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-06-22 09:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19664503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FisherTaiga/pseuds/FisherTaiga
Summary: Aziraphale hadn’t noticed anyone else entering the library until the librarian startled him with her loud shush. At first he thought maybe he’d been muttering to himself again – a bad habit, yes, but it helped him process his thoughts more clearly so he didn’t really care to fix it. He glanced sideways towards the door just in time to see a familiar face (though almost everyone at the school was familiar, when you saw the same people everyday). Realizing that he wasn’t the one being shushed, he relaxed and went back to his book, not giving the newcomer a second glance.He hadn’t realized that the library’s new guest had come up beside him until the boy spoke.“What’cha readin’?”~OR~An unfortunate Harry Potter AU (set a bit before Tom Riddle attends Hogwarts, if my timeline is correct) where Aziraphale is a Hufflepuff despite his whole pureblood family being comprised of either Ravenclaws or Gryffindors, and Crowley is a Slytheryn, obviously, who prides himself on being the Patron Saint of Moderate Inconveniences and Mild Discomfort.





	1. The Library

**Author's Note:**

> Being as I'm American, I really hope i haven't butchered the English dialect that much.
> 
> No beta, so any mistakes (of which I'm sure they abound) are mine and mine alone. I'm particularly worried about tense and spelling mistakes.

Crowley had seen the boy before – obviously he had. He stood out enough on his own with his silvery blonde hair, and the peculiar air about him – but he was also one of the five total Hufflepuffs in their year making him even more recognizable. He was one of two boys, the other three of which were girls. Of the forty something students, only 5 had been Hufflepuffs – the rest had been divided almost evenly, though Slytheryn had the most with 13 sorted into its house, Crowley being one of them. It had been the most uneven sorting on record, and was still quite an interesting topic among people despite being four years into it already.

So yes, Crowley had seen the boy before in a number of his classes over the three years they’d been at Hogwarts (fourth year had only just started you see), but he’d never heard the boy speak outside of the classroom, and even then it was always school related questions or answers (though to be fair, Crowley also wasn’t one to talk much in class – he got on well enough with his fellow Slytheryns, but definitely didn’t care enough to strike up a conversation with them willingly. It also didn’t help that the teachers didn’t like him much and therefore never called on him. It may or may not have been due to the fact that he’d been getting into fights and such pretty much since his first day of school, but Crowley was pretty sure he just intimidated them).

But back to the topic at hand. Crowley had just entered the library, where he had seldom a desire to visit, except when required. Today was the first time entering of his own volition, and now was the first time he’d ever been alone with the pretty-boy Hufflepuff. The platinum blonde was reading at one of the many desks in the middle of the room, piles of books surrounding him so that really you could only see his head peaking up from behind them. 

Crowley had closed the rather large library doors behind him in a hurry, which had made quite a bit of sound, causing the ancient librarian to peek out from between some towering bookshelves, and issue a rather undignified “Shhhhh!”.

The pale blonde boy hadn’t looked up from his book at all.

The Slytheryn gave a silent face at the librarian once she turned away, and started to slowly meander around. There was no one else amongst the shelves, leaving him to pass the time either by himself, or bothering the Hufflepuff (the librarian didn’t count as a person, really, authority figures never had to Crowley).

So Crowley slinked up to the desk beside the other boy and leaned against the table beside him. He bent his head over the book the boy was so focused on, but couldn’t tell what it was he was studying just from the open pages full of tiny, scribbled text. “What’cha readin’?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed anyone else entering the library until the librarian startled him with her loud shush. At first he thought maybe he’d been muttering to himself again – a bad habit, yes, but it helped him process his thoughts more clearly so he didn’t really care to fix it. He glanced sideways towards the door just in time to see a familiar face (though almost everyone at the school was familiar, when you saw the same people everyday). Realizing that he wasn’t the one being shushed, he relaxed and went back to his book, not giving the newcomer a second glance.

He hadn’t realized that the library’s new guest had come up beside him until the boy spoke.

“What’cha readin’?” the newcomer spoke suddenly (at least suddenly to Aziraphale). The blonde flinched a little and looked up at the magically appearing voice. He hadn’t expected anyone to come talk to him, that was for sure – it wasn’t Wednesday, so definitely not Newt coming in for Transfiguration tutoring, and other than his, err, _friend_ Anathema, no one else approached him much.

The boy looking down at him, or rather, down at his book was the infamous Crowley. He’d heard others call him The Snake, and it was easy to see why with his lanky, lean build and his startlingly yellow reptilian eyes which were well hidden behind a dark pair of glasses (Aziraphale had only seen them up close the one time in second year when they’d sat beside each other during charms and the professor made his dark sunglasses float through the air), but Aziraphale wasn’t about to use it. He’d gotten plenty of unwanted nicknames over the past four years (and before that as well, unfortunately) so he didn’t like using them on others, even if it was a rather obvious one.

“Oh,” Aziraphale voice finally stuttered into action, “It’s my Muggle Studies textbook. I’m reading a bit ahead because I’ve been looking forward to the class for years, but so far I’ve been disappointed with it. I’m afraid I completely misunderstood what the class was supposed to be about.”

The boy, Crowley, cocked his head sideways to look at him directly, though it really was hard to tell with those pitch-black glasses covering his unusual eyes. Aziraphale suddenly really wanted to see those eyes again, wondering if any of the rumors about them were true.

“Innit just studyin muggles and what they’ve done? Stuff like that?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale blushed a tiny bit. “Yes, it is, and that why I’ve been feeling rather stupid for thinking otherwise for so long” he admitted. He felt rather embarrassed being wrong. It wasn’t something he was supposed to do. He father was very adamant about that.

“What did ya think it was gonna be?” Crowley asked, sounding mildly curious.

Aziraphale closed the book in front of him and placed a hand gently on the cover. He looked at it like he was genuinely sad. “I thought it was going to be studying the things that muggles studied in their school – like a view into what they learn. Instead it’s just blathering on about their history and achievements in a rather biased way, I’d say. It feels almost like the book is treating them like children for the frankly quite amazing things they’ve accomplished considering how little they had to start with.” The blonde always got worked up about these sorts of things, despite it being a bit of a niche opinion. He usually didn’t rant on about his opinions, but sometimes he just couldn’t stand it.

Crowley just started at him for a moment, Aziraphale felt the pointed gaze of his eyes looking him up and down from even behind the glasses. “Why would you want to learn about Muggle school? It’s terrible. All maths, and incredibly stupid rules. I hated it,” Crowley finally responded.

The blonde stared wide-eyed for a second before breaking out into amazed smile. “You’ve gone?!” he blurted out.

This time it was his turn to get shushed.

Aziraphale turned pink and apologized to Ms. Moultry profusely.

Crowley flipped her off once she’d turned away. “Hag,” he muttered.

The blonde would have been affronted by the lanky boy’s rude behavior, but he was still too busy being excited that he’s finally met someone who’s gone to a proper public school. Both Newt and Anathema had been home-taught since they were young and Aziraphale definitely hadn’t been allowed to go to _muggle_ school (his father always used a rather degrading tone when using the word “muggle”). “I’ve been trying to learn what muggles learn in school for years now,” he started. He gestured to the maze of bookshelves that surrounded them, “But this blasted library hasn’t been any help at all. I’d have gone to a muggle library if I ever had the chance but I’m not allowed.”

“I mean, most of its rubbish,” Crowley answered, “I’ve had to re-learn a bunch of stuff when I got here, but some of it was interesting. Their history is a lot more eventful. Progress and all that. Binns drones on and on about nothing but wars with this race and wars with that one, it all gets rather monotonous.” Crowley, uncomfortable with leaning against the table for so long, finally slid himself up on top of it, shoving a small pile of books to the side so there was room for him to sit next to the blonde. “But not allowed to go to a library? Hell, my mother wished I’d been sneaking off to go to libraries. Damn, Angel, your parents must be something else.”

“Yes, they’re very stri-,“ Aziraphale stopped mid-word, when his brain finally registered what Crowley had just called him. He might have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so confused, “Wait, _what_ did you just call me?”

Crowley cocked his head, as if he didn’t understand the question, “That’s your name, innit? Asira-something-or-other. But it’s an angel’s name, yeah? Very biblical at least.”

“It’s Aziraphale, the name of an angel from some muggle religion or another, but I’m surprised you actually knew that – or my name for that matter,” Aziraphale didn’t think anyone knew him by his first name, let alone this Slytheryn boy who was always surrounded by what he had assumed to be friends. Most people called him by his family name, Seraph, except for his family of course and Anathema, who did so for her own particular reasons.

Crowley shrugged, “It was interesting so I remembered, sorta – I knew I was close. Anyways, we’re in the same class, it’d be weird if I didn’t know your name. I know you know who I am,” Crowley stated confidently, as if there was no possible way someone wouldn’t know who he was. Which was technically right, Aziraphale thought, even first years seemed to know to avoid him specifically. Crowley looked straight forward out at the wall (the blonde noticed that he was very animated and couldn’t quite sit still, even though they’d only been talking for near on five minutes or so). “Aziraphale,” Crowley said slowly, as if testing it out.

The blonde blushed a bit and looked down at his hands, placed delicately on top of his textbook, as if they were suddenly very interesting. He was definitely not used to people calling him by name. But if the other boy noticed how pink he’d gotten again, he didn’t say anything.

“It’s quite a mouthful, yeah? Angel suits you pretty well anyways, so I’m gonna keep it,” Crowley decided. He looked back down at the blonde in question, not particularly asking if it was okay to do so, but more like telling him that he’d pretty much been renamed.

Aziraphale swallowed, hoping that he’d not sound as ruffled as he felt, “I mean, I don’t know that it suits me, but if it’s easier for you so remember, I don’t mind I guess.” 

“All I mean is you fit the part of angelic – you look like you’ve never broken a rule in your life. Bloody heaven, you felt bad earlier for being too loud in an empty library,” Crowley explained.

“Rules are there for a reason,” Aziraphale defended, because he was, in fact, very partial to rules, “And it’s common curtesy to be silent in the library, even if no one else is present.”

“Who’re you being quiet for then, the books? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a little conversation once in a while – I’m sure it’s right boring being stared at all day without a word.”

Aziraphale entertained his odd point for a second before shaking his head, “That’s not really the point of the silence thing. It’s to be polite to whomever is around you, and also provide a calm quiet environment for which to focus on whatever it is you’re here for. It’s the whole idea behind libraries.”

“Bah, never liked libraries much, today’s a special occasion,” Crowley shrugged off.

“What occasion would that be?” Aziraphale asked. “If you’re looking for a particular book, or information, I can help you find it. I’ve become well aquainted with the aisles and a good portion of the books here,” the blond offered with a small smile. He rather liked helping people find the books they were looking for – Ms. Moultry was quite adept at her job but held no real love for books. Aziraphale on the other hand, had love for the written word in spades and wished he could share it with everyone.

“Nah – sorry, Angel, I ducked in to hide from the caretaker. I may or may not have bewitched his office doorknob to bite at him, and I may or may not have been singled out by Slughorn whose door I’d been accused of tampering with the previous week,” Crowley explained nonchalantly, as if he were discussing nothing more important than what he’d had for breakfast (which was straight black coffee and nothing else, were anyone to actually care).

Aziraphale just stared at him for a moment, and then blurted out in worry, “Did he get bit then?”

“No, no – it just snapped at him a few times. Didn’t want him to actually lose a finger. I mean, if I really was the culprit of course,” Crowley added. Couldn’t be giving himself away to the first person who asked, could he?

Aziraphale nodded. He wasn’t really sure what to make of this boy. He definitely wasn’t what he was expecting. From the way the other Slytheryns had treated him (taunting and teasing, the usual pretty much from anyone who didn’t care for him) he was sure the lanky boy would act much the same. Surprisingly he was actually an interesting person.

“Well, if you’re still trying to hide, I know that Pringle usually gives up the chase after an hour or so. I mean, if he’s really hell-bent on finding you, he’ll find you tonight or make one of the other teachers dock some points, though they never take him too seriously when it’s just little pranks like that.” Aziraphale thought briefly of Anathema the time she’d gotten caught breaking into the caretaker, Apolyon Pringle’s office after he confiscated a special instrument she used for finding ley-lines and such, claiming it was something she stole rather than the family heirloom that it was. She’d had Aziraphale be her look out as she tip-toed around the castle all day. He was not too fond of that memory.

“Hmm,” Crowley contemplated, “And how long’ve I been here now – thirty, forty minutes?”

“More like ten to fifteen.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me for a bit longer then – ‘less ya got somewhere else ya gotta be,” Crowley seemed to ask – though again, Aziraphale felt that even though his words were asking, the boy actually meant something along the lines of _You have nothing better to do, if you’re here, so stay and entertain me._

And that ended up being what Aziraphale did. I mean, other than homework which he had already almost finished, there wasn’t much else to do. And the boy in the dark glasses was rather interesting. The blonde didn’t get to interact much with anyone outside of teachers, his roommate Newton, and Anathema, and while Anathema was at least a very interesting person, there was that odd pressure about their “friendship” that both of them felt but both refused to bring up.

Talking with Crowley had been rather pleasant, even if they didn’t quite see eye to eye on some matters. Aziraphale assumed that once Crowley left those heavy library doors, there would be no more chances to talk with him – so he took advantage of the mostly friendly interaction and made the most of it before it disappeared. It wasn’t every day one got to talk to someone so infamous, the blonde mused to himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A bit more than an hour passed before Crowley slipped out of the library, Angel following him out as well, stammering something about getting one last bit of homework done in his common room. Crowley hadn’t quite known what to expect from the blonde, but he’d actually found him loads more interesting than he’d expected. At a lot of fun to tease at that.

He’d noticed how pink the boy had gotten when he’d debuted his on-the-spot nickname for him. He wasn’t sure why, but he liked it. Crowley prided himself on being the self-proclaimed Patron Saint of Moderate Inconveniences and Mild Discomfort. He didn’t like the term _bully_ but if people associated him as such, thus leaving him alone, he didn’t mind. Bully was really much too strong a word for what Crowley did – hand out weird nicknames, invade people’s personal space, commit random acts of mischief, and all around just making people uncomfortable around him. Nothing really _bully_ -like.

Well, he may have gotten into a few fights and duels here and there, but those bastards usually started it, and then got what they’d deserved for provoking him. It wasn’t his fault he was better at fist-fighting than they. 

But yes, Azira-whatever was very interesting. He hadn’t seemed phased at all by his mild pestering, and even seemed happily shocked when Crowley had sort-of remembered his name, and then proceeded to ignore it in favor of his new title for the boy.

Angel really did suit him better – he touched mildly on the angelic-like-politeness, but just thought the rest to himself. The boy’s near-on white blonde curls and milky skin made him look almost cherubic, right down the faint dust of pink on his cheeks when he got embarrassed or flustered and his rounded but not particularly chubby features. And those blue eyes were almost as startling as his own messed up ones, except for completely different reasons.

But what really surprised him was the fact that he was nice. Nice to Crowley, specifically. Sure they’d disagreed on the worth of libraries, but Angel had offered to help him find a book despite Crowley having just proclaimed libraries boring and stiff, and then decided to stay and keep the Slytheryn boy busy while he waited out the storm that was Apolyon Pringle. They talked about random topics – most of which stemmed from Aziraphale trying to learn more about muggle schooling.

Suffice it to say, his first willing visit to the library hadn’t been as dull as he’d expected.

They parted ways at the door, Aziraphale with a small smile and a nod, and Crowley with a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered away – neither really expecting much to come out of their pleasant interaction.


	2. A Second Meeting

It had been a few months since the day in the library, and neither boy really acted as though it happened save for the occasional nod to each other as they’d pass in the hallway, or small smile from Aziraphale if their eyes happened to meet in class (or Aziraphale assumed they’d met anyways, what with Crowley’s sunglasses so obscuring and all). It had become something pleasant Aziraphale liked to think back on and remember – like a dream that had felt particularly enjoyable but you didn’t want to share it because no one else would understand why it had been so good.

Aziraphale wished he’d had a dream like that this past night. He should have known it was going to be a bad day when he woke up late and didn’t have time to make it down to breakfast. He did love breakfast – most important meal of the day and all – and missing it just started him off in the wrong mood for the day, because his first class was Divination, his least favorite of the classes.

Because there were only five Hufflepuffs in their year, they’d had to improvise with the classes, especially as they got on farther in their studies, and there were more class options. Since Divination wasn’t the most popular of classes (Because only one or two people per couple of generations ever had the real _sight_ , and the rest of those who claimed otherwise were usually very imaginative people who wanted their ten minutes of fame) the school had grouped all four of the houses into one class. There were only fifteen or so of the forty-seven fourth years that had wanted to take Divination (or in Aziraphale’s circumstance, was told to take it so he could impress the Device family, particularly Anathema’s mother, who was the head of their matriarchal family).

And with all four houses crammed into one tiny attic, it was always hectic and frankly a waste of time. Sure it was an interesting topic to learn, but most of it was utter rubbish in his opinion. How could the stars and their placements predict anything? Or tea leaves for that matter?

He had tried to sit with Newton, his roommate, but Anathema came and sat down beside him, making the awkward bespectacled boy murmur that he’d forgotten something and went to go sit down at a corner table that hadn’t quite filled up yet.

“He’s got to get used to me at some point,” she mused, staring at him across the room.

Aziraphale watched his poor friend try very hard to pretend that the dark-haired dark-eyed girl wasn’t staring into his soul, but he was failing pretty miserably, toppling one of his books off the table and then whacking his elbow on the edge of it when he bent over to pick up the fallen item. The poor boy was pretty much infatuated with her, but was much too nervous to do anything about it – especially since Anathema blurted out about the _arrangement_ her and Aziraphale’s family had made for the two of them at breakfast one morning. 

Hearing that two fourth year teenagers already had marriage plans, well that would startle anyone.

It sure startled Aziraphale when he found out the year previous. Anathema though – well, she had this way of not particularly caring about future plans so she took it in stride. She hadn’t seemed bothered by it really, but Aziraphale decided to be bothered enough for the both of them. Anathema was a pleasant girl, even with her eccentricities, but Aziraphale had no desire to marry her or anyone for that matter. 

Divination just kept going downhill from there.

A big burley Slytheryn boy whose name Aziraphale didn’t care to conjure up, had started flicking little beads that he’d torn down from one of the beaded-entryways of the class at his head. He’d done quite a good job at ignoring it until Anathema stepped in and put a shielding charm on his back before the next one hit, making it bounce back and hit the Slytheryn right in the eye.

This made him cry out in shock and probably pain, though it hadn’t really been a forceful bounce. He may have been overdoing it when he fell out of his chair.

The Divination teacher got excited for a moment when he thought someone was having an honest-to-god vision, but was quickly disappointed and demoted points from Hufflepuff because of it.

Aziraphale shot an almost-glowering look at the girl beside him, but found her guiltily studying the contents of her book bag to avoid it.

When class finally let out, Aziraphale had hurried out in an attempt to nip down to the kitchens to see if any of the lovely house elves would mind giving him something to nibble on before next class, but found himself interrupted. Despite being a larger fellow, he must have moved pretty quickly to catch up to him (though, Aziraphale probably hadn’t been as fast as he thought, given that he wasn’t all that athletically inclined).

“Oy,” the brutish boy from earlier called out to him out of nowhere as he grabbed the back of his school robes. “Your _girlfriend_ hit me right in the eye.” He muttered the word “girlfriend” with such obvious sarcasm that it almost came back around to sounding genuine again.

The robes pulled tight around Aziraphale’s neck for a second as the bigger boy spun the blonde’s body around to face him.

Aziraphale coughed and pulled the collar of his robes away from his soft neck, “Take it up with her then, I wasn’t the one that did it.”

The older boy scowled and sounded a little offended, “I can’t go around hitting girls now could I? Could get in a lot of trouble for that kinda thing.”

“Why do you have to hit anyone? Just let it go, you were the one picking on me to start with.” He knew it wouldn’t do him any good asking, but it might buy him some time to think his way out of whatever the Slytheryn had planned.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he feigned ignorance, “I was just mindin’ my own business when your friend shot something into my eye. So if I were to hit you, it would just be boys getting even with each other – it’s what we do right? Even prissy little faggots like you know that right?”

And there it was. Aziraphale had wondered when that little number would come up. It was like a broken record with these people sometimes. It always stung a bit, but at least there wasn’t anyone around for the boy to make a scene out of it. That was polite of him at least.

Except, suddenly there _was_ someone else there. A lanky figure with a styled head of auburn-nearly-crimson hair slinked past Aziraphale and put his long, lean arm around his fellow Slytheryn. “Hey Babs, what’s goin’ on over here?” He asked like he was bored and needed someone to entertain him – which was perhaps exactly what was happening.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, not quite sure if he was relieved or worried over his presence.

The boy in the dark glasses tilted his head towards the blonde and turned one corner of his mouth into a smirk, “Angel.”

The other Slytheryn – _Babs? That didn’t quite sound right_ , Aziraphale thought absently – snapped his head towards the boy intruding his bullying session and gingerly pulled the slender boy’s arm off of his shoulders as if it were some dangerous creature resting there. “I told you not to call me that, Crowley you arse.”

“What, ya’ want to be called Babcock? Don’t you get called a prick enough already? Thought I was doing something kind for a friend,” Crowley shrugged and shook his head as if he were genuinely hurt.

Babcock grumbled and glowered but didn’t say anything in reply. “What did you need, Crowley,” he asked instead.

“Right, yeah, needed this guy here for a minute,” Crowley said sliding up to Aziraphale and putting a hand atop his blonde head of curls. He ruffled them up a bit, sending a small shiver down Aziraphale’s spine that trailed down all the way to his toes. “I outsource my Potions work to him.”

Aziraphale could only nod in response. He wasn’t much of a liar, so trying to add anything to Crowley’s creative story would probably ruin it.

Crowley lifted his glasses and used his bright, intimidating eyes to stare down Babcock, “Or, were you needing him still?”

The brutish Babcock visibly flinched at the sight of his eyes – reversely, Aziraphale had to fight the urge to look back and see them for himself – and waved a hand at the two of them, “Whatever, fuck off Crowley.” He turned and started walking away.

Crowley let his glasses drop back over his eyes and called out, “Thanks, Babs!” at the other boy’s retreating form.

Aziraphale was smiling now, and couldn’t quite get himself to stop it. “Should I get you that potions work now?” he asked, managing at attempt at humor.

The blonde could feel the eye-roll that followed in Crowley’s voice alone, “Oh shut it.”

“I do appreciate that, though,” Aziraphale said sincerely.

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t mind it. What’d you come this way for, potions is on the other side of the castle?”

Aziraphale sighed, “I missed breakfast and wanted to sneak in to see if the kitchens had anything I could nibble at. I can’t concentrate if I’m hungry.”

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed and started rummaging around in his book sash that he’d had draped diagonally across his chest. He eventually found what he’d been looking for and pulled out what looked like a lump of napkin. “This do?” he asked holding it out to the blonde.

Aziraphale took it gingerly and found a blueberry muffin wrapped inside, only one little chunk missing from the top.

“Nicked it because it was the last one, but I got my hands all mucked up in Herbology,” Crowley explained as he shook the contents of his book bag back into the acceptable order of chaos that he liked, and then went about picking at the dirt that had stuck under his nails even though he’d washed them already (Crowley could have just used gloves like everyone else during Herbology, but he rather liked the cold feeling of the dirt on his hands and the feel of the vines and weeds as they pulled apart in his grasp).

“Thanks, that’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale said lamely.

“Shhh!” Crowley hushed him in just as an undignified way as the librarian on their first little meeting, “Don’t be saying shite like that so loud, Angel. I’ve a reputation to maintain.” He said shaking his head and turning around to start heading to the next class.

Aziraphale stared after him for a moment before following behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Crowley watched the blonde nibble at the muffin he’d offered out of the corner of his eye. One of the few main reasons he liked his all-encompassing black sunglasses was the fact that he could be looking wherever he wanted without being called on it. And at the moment he was enjoying his decision to share his stolen muffin immensely. Crowley was very good at reading people’s emotions, but he didn’t need said skill at all to know what Aziraphale was feeling.

The blonde was a very emotive and animated person. His face was always giving away what exactly he was thinking or feeling, and at the moment it was just utter joy. Watching him eat was very enthralling for some reason and Crowley found himself walking slower so he could watch Aziraphale eat from right beside him instead of using his advanced peripheral vision from ahead (which was one trait of his unusual reptilian eyes. He could see very well with his peripherals and could actually see things of higher temperatures in better color definition. It had been weird getting used to for sure, because of course he hadn’t been _born_ with snakes’ eyes. That would be ridiculous).

He eventually pulled ahead of the blonde again when the muffin had disappeared, and Aziraphale had folded the crumbly napkin and tucked it neatly into a side pocket of his book bag for later disposal. Crowley scolded himself a bit for being so caught up watching the angel, but told himself again for probably the sixth time that he’d only stepped into the blonde’s business earlier because he thoroughly enjoyed messing with good ol’ Babs. The boy was a prat and Crowley was having quite a lot of fun messing with him lately.

“So,” Aziraphale started, bringing Crowley out of his internal monologue. The blonde hesitated though, as if not sure he should break the silence.

“Wazzit?” Crowley asked.

“Well, I suddenly wondered if you did, in fact, need help with Potions work? I don’t recall what your usual grade is in the class – and I definitely won’t do any of your work for you, obviously – but I could help you if you actually needed it,” The blonde offered in a round-about sort of way. He looked rather nervous about it too, as if he were being stupid for even offering.

Crowley smirked, “I’m good for now, Angel, though I may call on you closer to exams – I’m pretty shit at tests.” 

The blonde breathed a little smile to himself, “Okay, just let me know then.”

They were nearly to the Potions classroom, but they were definitely cutting it close. You’d think that with how large the castle grounds were, they’d be a bit more lenient with the time they gave between classes, but they rarely had more than ten. So by the time the two of them got to class, everyone else was there waiting outside the doors and had seen them come up together.

Babcock also shared this class with them, and he seemed to be whispering something to his little gang of friends in the back of the group. Crowley parted nonchalantly from Aziraphale’s side but didn’t particularly stray too far. He ignored the sharp stares his roomie Babs was giving him and stood as coolly as he could with his arms crossed and a vacant stare forward at the classroom door.

Aziraphale had stopped at his friend Newton Pulsifer’s side, Crowley noticed. The brunette boy in the glasses kept sending worried looks between him and the blonde, as if wondering if it was alright to ask what was going on. The blonde however was trying very hard to make his face be stoic, but Crowley could tell he was just a tad nervous.

Professor Slughorn finally swung the doors wide and herded them all inside, apologizing for the wait for some reason or another but Crowley hadn’t been listening. Instead he was contemplating what would happen if he told the blonde to sit with him in class. It might sell his earlier story to Babs and the gang a bit more believably if he was seen “tormenting” Aziraphale during class – though did it really matter? He could easily counter whatever stupid things Babs was telling them all about him later, but this way just seemed more fun.

That was all Crowley really cared about anyways. Enjoying himself. And the blonde was nothing if not entertaining.

As they all flowed into class, Crowley sidled up to the blonde again and spoke into his ear, “Actually, angel, I’m taking you up on your offer – be my partner for today.”

Aziraphale jumped a little and turned. Aside from looking a little startled and a little blushed, the blonde didn’t look too fazed by the suggestion. “Well, okay then.” He glanced a bit pointedly past Crowley (where the Slytheryn assumed Babs or another one of his housemates were following behind them) before turning to his brunette friend in the glasses (who was now more worried than before about his friend being tormented, Crowley noted with a self-satisfied smirk). 

“So sorry, Pulsifer. Gonna borrow your friend here for a bit,” Crowley informed as he slid between the two friends.

”Ah – but?” Pulsifer babbled awkwardly his eyes frantically pulsing back and forth between Crowley and the blonde.

“It’s fine, Newt – I’m sure Anathema wouldn’t mind pairing with you,” Aziraphale tried to smile encouragingly at his friend.

Pulsifer looked like he was about to have a heart attack, and the look of sheer panic on his face only intensified when Anathema swooped in with her innate ability to take everything in stride.

“Come on, Newton,” the Device girl directed, placing a hand on the brunette boy and lightly steering him towards a desk on the farther side of the classroom.

Crowley leaned into Aziraphale, “Separation anxiety?”

The angel sighed and explained, “He has a hard time around girls, Anathema in particular.”

Crowley nodded and sat at the closest open table. He patted the seat beside him as the blonde followed. He made another nervous glance towards the back of the classroom before sitting down.

Crowley looked back to see what the blonde was fussing about to see Babs glowering in their direction.

Crowley flipped him off with as cheesy of a smile as he could manage, and turned back around before he could even properly see the bigger boy’s reaction. The prat could stare at him all he wanted.

The blonde looked between the two of them, seemingly unable to determine how to feel about it, before sitting down. “You know that’s just going to make him more upset,” he chided a bit half-heartedly.

Crowley shrugged and sprawled out as much as he could in the small classroom chair. Slughorn started calling out to the class to _settle down, settle down_ , despite them all being pretty much settled. Instead of listening to the professor explain what they’d be doing that class and asking about the work they were supposed to be turning in, Crowley instead watched the blonde out of the corner of his eye. He could tell that the angel was a bit on the nervous side, but noted as he got more and more into the “class” mindset, the nervousness started to clear a bit. He watched as the angel unpacked whatever supplies he thought he needed from his book bag. The blonde inspected every quill, every ink well, every bottle of assorted potion ingredients, with his deft and gentle hands. He noticed that his fingernails were clean and filed and seemed to reflect the early morning light that filled in from the windows. They were painted clear, he assumed. He didn’t know much about polish, but he knew that it was a bit… _eccentric_ for a man.

Crowley decided, however, that it suited him, and left it at that.

Unwillingly he thought back to earlier. He hadn’t intended to spy on the encounter, and definitely hadn’t planned on interfering, but Babs had called the angel a name, and the blonde noticeably flinched as if he’d just been hit. That word had caused him as much pain as if Babcock had written it out on a rock and then proceeded to chuck it at him.

Seeing the blonde actually hurt by something seemed to strike a nerve inside Crowley’s usually nonchalant existence, and he found his feet sauntering forward to see what his buddy Babs had goin’ on.

Crowley reflected for a moment on that word. He was a strict believer that words only had power if you gave it to them, and then used this line of thinking to swear in all manner of colorful and blasphemous ways. He had definitely used the six-letter _F_ ¬-word within the past month or so, but always used it to mean someone was being an incredible idiot (of which there were quite a lot in Crowley’s dorm, he decided). He understood what the real meaning of it was, but had never actually thought about trying to call whoever he was aiming it at a homo. He had honestly never heard it used so venomously, so piercingly before.

It made him a little mad that it had been directed towards his current potions partner. He wasn’t quite sure why he was mad for this person, but rather felt that someone ought to be mad, seeing as the blonde only took the insult and didn’t react further than recoiling in pain. He’d sensed no anger from him, no desperation to refute it.

Crowley shoved the rest of his thoughts away, deciding to put that singular word from his vocabulary on hiatus, and started paying attention to the lesson. The blonde _had_ said that he wouldn’t do his work for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at setting myself goals, but I've been really enjoying writing this (it's been near-on two years since I've really written anything so I'm glad to be getting back into the swing of things). More on the way, for sure.


	3. The Excursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone - also, I'm alive! In my defence I did say that I was bad about updating regularly, though I really didn't mean for it to be 6 months between posts. Whoops

**Chapter 3:**

Christmas break had arrived and Aziraphale was left at the school once again. His parents had sent a letter about a week ago explaining that they’d gone off on some trip to America for business, and instead of bringing him along, they’d rather him stay at school and focus properly on his studies (as if that wasn’t what the boy had always done). Aziraphale tried not to be bitter, but he expected the real reason they didn’t want him around was because they didn’t want him interrupting whatever business they were involved in. It wasn’t anything shady, mind you, but they dealt with people a lot and he’d long since suspected that they were embarrassed of him.

Part of it was the whole Hufflepuff sorting debacle, and another part was definitely his mildly rebellious nature of not disapproving of other races and peoples as the rest of his family so vocally did. But he knew the secret reason beneath all that as well, the reason they’d deemed it fit to arrange him to marry a nice, respectable pureblood girl from a well-to-do family. They’d claimed it was something of a contingency, and if he found a different girl who they approved of they would definitely cancel the whole _arrangement_ with the Devices’, but he found it hard to believe that he’d find anyone they’d approve of girl or otherwise.

He cursed himself for thinking about the _otherwise_.

Aziraphale was currently enjoying the crisp biting air of the winter’s day. He was sitting on a bench beside the frozen-over lake, bundled up in multiple jackets and a number of scarves, pondering if the lake monster hibernated for the winter to avoid feeling trapped beneath the ice, or if he didn’t mind suddenly having a frozen ceiling to his home.

He heard some crunching in the snow coming up behind him and finally turned when it had gotten to sound very close.

“Hello, Crowley,” the Hufflepuff greeted pleasantly. He’d known the Slytheryn boy had stayed behind for the holidays as well, but hadn’t seen him since the first day of the break a few mornings ago. He gave a soft smile, which the fiery red-head returned as a nod and a mutter of acknowledgement.

“Bloody freezing out here,” Crowley commented a bit bitterly, his arms drawn to cross his chest tightly, as if this would hold his body heat in better. Aziraphale noticed that the boy was definitely not dressed for the weather, wearing one jacket made of black leather that hadn’t even been zipped up properly. Beneath it was a plain red cotton T-shirt that must have been long sleeve at least because Aziraphale could see a bit of red peeking out around Crowley’s wrists as well.

“Dressed like that, it’s no surprise you’re freezing. I could give you one of my scarves,” Aziraphale offered easily, looking down to inspect himself and figure out which one he wouldn’t mind giving up. _Maybe the pastel green one, since he was a Slytheryn?_ Aziraphale debated.

Crowley waved him away. “This is called _style_ , angel. A scarf would ruin the whole ensemble,” he explained rather exasperatedly gesturing down at himself. He was also wearing dark demins and a pair of shiny black boots looked to be made of snake or alligator skin (thought it was much more plausible to think they were imitation – real snake skin boots probably cost quite a bit), neither of which were meant for damp snow or deflecting icy winds. “Asides, I’m heading down to the village anyway. I’ll warm up as I walk.” Crowley had stopped beside the bench Aziraphale was occupying, but was still moving about, stepping in place as if to keep his blood pumping.

Aziraphale tilted his head as the thought, “Are we allowed to leave the school?”

“Never said we couldn’t. Been going down since second year and no one’s stopped me,” Crowley countered and then suddenly offered, “Fancy a stroll?”

Aziraphale bit at the inside of his cheek. He would honestly love something to do, and a walk down to Hogsmeade with his new…well, was he allowed to call Crowley a friend? Did three years of merely knowing about each other and a few recent conversations constitute a friendship? He wasn’t sure, but he definitely didn’t mind the Slytheryn boy’s company. Crowley didn’t seem to mind Aziraphale’s either, considering he was the one extending the invitation.

“Well, if they haven’t _strictly_ forbade it…” Aziraphale said trying to convince himself.

“Come on then,” Crowley said with a particularly violent shiver. He started off towards the towering Hogwarts gate, not bothering to see the Aziraphale was following behind him.

Aziraphale smiled a little and stood from his place on the bench. He had to jog a little to catch up to the long-legged boy, but it didn’t take long (thankfully – Aziraphale hated jogging) before he was walking beside his…Acquaintance? School mate? No, _friend_ felt much more accurate, even if it did feel slightly embarrassing. Well, as long as he just thought the word to himself, it really shouldn’t be a problem.

He wondered what the knowledge of him befriending a Slytheryn with such an infamous reputation would do to his parents and smiled at their imagined reactions.

The walk through the gate and down the hill (Aziraphale had forgotten about the hilly pathway, and suddenly dreaded the return trip back up) was surprisingly pleasant. They hadn’t actually spoken but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable by any means. The hollow sound of the wind rolling down the hill, the muted crunch of their footsteps not quite lining up into any consistent pattern, the occasional mutter from Crowley as he cursed the cold – the silence was broken up plenty without them forcefully chatting the whole way down.

Aziraphale glanced over at the Slytheryn boy and noticed he kept fidgeting with his hands and then shoving them into his underarms for warmth. The blonde pulled off one of his top-layer scarves and offered it over, “At least use it to keep your hands warm – it isn’t stylish by any means I’m sure, but losing a finger to frostbite doesn’t sound very fashionable either.”

Crowley let out a bark of laughter. “My hands are fine,” he doled out, taking a quick step into Aziraphale’s personal space, “See?”

Before the blonde could react to anything, both of Crowley’s hands were smushed into Aziraphale’s cheeks. If the blonde couldn’t see Crowley doing it, he’d swear the boy had just smashed handfuls of snow onto his face. He let out a yelp of surprise and let his hands come up in an attempt to pull the offending appendages away.

“You’re freezing!” Aziraphale shouted.

The red-head just threw his head back in a cackle, “And you’re a furnace. No wonder you’re always blushing, it’s the heat tryin to escape.”

Again, before the Hufflepuff could react, Crowley pulled his hands away and stuffed them into the pockets of his leather jacket, completely ignoring the scarf that was still clutched in one of Aziraphale’s hands, “I’ll be fine, we’re just about there. Keep up, angel.”

Aziraphale stood frozen in place for a split second before following suit. So the red-head _had_ noticed all his embarrassed blushes. He was beginning to hope that he’d gotten better at hiding his emotions. The blonde toyed with the scarf in his hands for a minute to distract himself from the unwarranted heat in his face.

The village of Hogsmeade was actually quite large if you counted all the scattered buildings that you’d come to if you followed any of the smaller streets that led away from the main few where all the shops were. Despite the holiday season, it was still pretty busy and bustling. It was four days away from Christmas and people were most definitely out and about doing their last minute holiday shopping. Once they were actually on the stone paved main roads of town, the snow had vanished and their steps became scuffs instead of crunches. A handy charm probably kept the roads clear despite the fact that it had definitely been snowing very early this morning.

“Something warm to drink?” Crowley asked not bothering to look over his shoulder.

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale replied, holding his gloved hands up to his mouth to breathe some warmth back into them.

The blonde followed Crowley down High Street and just when he saw the Three Broomsticks coming into view, Crowley dodged down a thin alleyway. Aziraphale almost got to ask where they were going before the Slytheryn pipped in, “The Inn is this way.”

Aziraphale assumed he meant the Hogshead Inn, and felt his stomach get a little jittery. He’d never been there before – it had always seemed so dreary and a little frightening, at least for someone going alone. His nerves settled down a bit though as he looked at Crowley’s back. He was still sauntering as confidently as usual, as long as you ignored is occasional shiver. The Slytheryn seemed to know exactly where he was going, so Aziraphale sped up his pace a bit to close the gap Crowley kept making with his long stride. The boy’s legs were almost ridiculously long, and his hips never quite seemed to stop moving about.

The blonde forced his gaze back to his surroundings because he was most decidedly _not_ staring at his new friend-like acquaintance’s backside. He hoped his blush would be covered this time by the cold that had livened up his complexion.

The end of the alley spat them out onto another main road, though Aziraphale didn’t know this one’s name. Sure enough the Hogshead Inn was looming almost crookedly in front of them, it being one of the only three-story buildings in the village.

The two boys stepped onto the pavement and then up the few steps to the double doors.

The inn smelled dusty and bitter, with a heavy hit of burning firewood encompassing the main barroom. Despite the busy streets outside, there was noticeably less foot-traffic in this building; the vibe of the room was much slower than the pace outside. Crowley let out a large sigh of relief the moment the doors closed behind them and practically sashayed up to the vacant bar, where the person who was manning it was complacently reading the Daily Prophet that was spread out on the bar in front of him. Aziraphale tried very hard not to stare at the very tiny man with the salt and pepper beard that had been styled down into a point. He could only be about three feet tall with a stocky build (Goblin possibly? But then, he was a bit taller than the goblin’s he’d met at Gringots. Aziraphale felt like he would have heard something if such a well-known place was run by a goblin). He suddenly had to bite down a million questions that flooded his inquisitive mind. He definitely did not want to be rude to one of Crowley’s acquaintances.

“What’s this, a library now?” Crowley said as he leaned himself against the bar in front of the man. “If I’d wanted to read, we would’ve stayed at school.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue at the red-head, but the bartender, who Aziraphale could now see was standing on a platform that had been built up behind the bar, just looked up lazily from his paper, “I was wondering how long it would take you to come strolling in here like you owned the place, Crowley. I’ve got some crates out back you could bring in and unload for me, but not much work otherwise.”

Crowley tapped out a chaotic rhythm on the countertop, “I’m not here on business today, Togs – my friend here and I would like a drink.” Crowley gestured vaguely behind him at the blonde, who could really only stand there awkwardly. There were a number of interesting things going on in this dialogue he was spectating, but the word _friend_ seemed to stick out the most at him.

The bartender suddenly paid more attention to who was in front of him and stared almost confused-like at Aziraphale.

The blonde did a little wave and squeaked out a “Nice to meet you.”

The tiny man – _Togs?_ Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he trusted Crowley to use anyone’s real name – turned a sharp gaze at the red-head, “How did a snake like you coerce anyone to be your friend?”

“Aw, come on now Toggy – aren’t you my friend? I’m a little hurt that you’d think I’m not sociable enough for a friend or two,” Crowley said clutching dramatically at his heart.

“I told you to drop it with the names, bean-pole.”

“Fine, fine – Toggelsworth A. Bourish, meet my friend Angel.” Crowley bowed as if he were introducing royalty.

Aziraphale’s face lit up a bright red once again and quickly interjected. “Aziraphale! My names Aziraphale.” He shot a stern look at Crowley (at least, it was meant to be stern, but with his blushing, who knows what anyone thought he was doing) and stepped closer to the bar to shake the bartender’s hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Bourish.”

The man’s child-sized hand was surprisingly strong and callused. He gave a quick, firm shake before releasing his grip. “And I thought _my_ name was long. Welcome, boy.”

Crowley clapped his hands together loudly, “Alright then, now that introductions have been made loud and awkwardly, will you pour us some fire-whiskey?”

Mr. Bourish waved a flippant hand at the Slytheryn boy, “Yeah, yeah, sit down somewhere.”

Crowley turned on his heels and started towards a table nearest the smaller fireplace (there were three in total being used to heat up the large barroom). Aziraphale’s head whipped back and forth between the bartender and the red-head a few times before walking briskly after the latter. _Surely they were both joking about the fire-whiskey – a respectable bar owner wouldn’t_ really _serve two underage students alcohol, right? Right. Crowley must just be joking with his friend_.

Except the moment he sits down across from the fiery red-head, two shots hover across the room and land in front of them, a little of the amber liquid sloshing out of both of them and landing on the table where the spill immediately vanishes.

Aziraphale looks incredulously at the boy across from him, “We can’t drink this!” he hisses, suddenly worried that one of the other patrons littered throughout the tables is going to notice and reprimand them. “We’re students!”

“Not at the moment. It’s winter vacation,” Crowley counters. He dabs a pinky into the shot and sucks on it. He grumbles to himself and mutters, “the cheap stuff.”

Aziraphale scans the room, just waiting to get caught with alcohol in front of him, but the three other people scattered around the other two fireplaces, don’t seem to be doing much looking around. One man seems to be snoring, his head resting against the wooden table, his hand still grasping the handle of his pint.

The blonde looks down at the little glass in front of him. “We really shouldn’t,” he says sounding a bit more unsure of himself than he’d meant to.

“Come on, angel, you can’t seriously tell me you’ve never tried it before – or at least wanted to. One shot’s not going to do much more than warm you up a bit anyways. Trust me,” Crowley smirks.

That smirk makes Aziraphale decide the opposite, in fact, but…he’s always been a little curious. He’s had a few sips of wine here and there when his parents weren’t looking and definitely enjoyed it. He knows fire-whiskey is hard liquor, so it definitely won’t be sweet like the wines his mother commonly buys for her extravagant work parties.

Finally the blonde sighs. “You are a bad influence.” Aziraphale carefully picks up his glass and sniffs it. He definitely shouldn’t have done that – he feels heat singe his nostrils for a split second and it gets him coughing.

Crowley lets out another bark of laughter, “That’s the best kind of influence.” He holds up his own shot glass and holds it halfway over the table. “Cheers.”

Aziraphale resigns himself to his fate, and once he finishes coughing, the blonde gently clinks his glass against Crowley’s. “Cheers,” he repeats.

Crowley smiles – not smirks, smiles – before he taps his glass against the table once again and then brings it back up to his lips. He tosses it back in one go, not a drop left. The red-head lets out a long, slow breath afterwards and then rolls his shoulders a few times as if he’s suddenly able to relax them.

Aziraphale, not wanting to be caught watching instead of drinking, imitates Crowley by tapping his glass back down to the table (even though he has _no_ idea why) and pulling it back up to his mouth. He attempted to drink it all in one go, but his mouth just seemed too small and the alcohol too scorching. He swallowed about half his shot and felt it burning like a legitimate fire down his throat. It was startling, but somehow not painful like one would expect when swallowing fire-incarnate. He felt it burning down into his stomach, before it flickered fast like a flame out into his arms and legs, then his fingers and toes. It was an otherworldly sensation, completely different from any of the wines he’s had in the past.

His whole body was hot, and suddenly he was aware that his eyes were closed. He blinked them open and saw Crowley watching him – or maybe felt it, because of course his darkened glasses were still covering his eyes. “Good, yeah?” Crowley asked almost eagerly.

Aziraphale nodded and finished the other half of his shot. He reveled in the heat that was spreading through him, but noticed that something else was seeping into him as well. “Very good – surprisingly good. But whats…I feel like I should get up and do something? What is that? Oh Merlin’s Beard, why am I getting up?” Aziraphale’s body seemed to be acting on its own accord now as he suddenly pushed himself back from the table and started to stand.

Crowley almost seemed to hiss in amusement, as he grabbed Aziraphale’s shot glass from his hand and downed the last errant drop that had gathered in the corner. “Fire-whiskey gives you courage,” he smirked and stood up as well, “What have you always wanted to do in Hogsmeade, Aziraphale?”

The blonde just looked at his friend – yes, he felt like it was definitely okay to call him friend. It may have had something to do with the magical alcohol, but Crowley had used the term earlier, hadn’t he? “If you laugh at me, I swear I’ll never come to Hogsmeade with you ever again!” He threatened, as if Crowley had expressly asked him to make this a reoccurring thing of theirs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Crowley said with hands raised in surrender and that smile raising the corners of his lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Crowley let the blonde lead them out the bar, Aziraphale waving politely at the bartender as they did so, whereas Crowley merely nodded at his occasional employer. It was a quick walk down one of the main streets, but with the fire-whiskey in their systems neither boy seemed to mind the chill anymore.

Crowley strolled after his interesting companion, trying his damnedest to bite back a laugh that threatened to escape as he watched Aziraphale march confidently down the street to their destination. He had promised not to laugh, but he so desperately wanted to. He’d thought that the goody-goody angel here would have some deeper, darker wish, since he was always so prim and proper, but Crowley had been very wrong.

Aziraphale came to an abrupt halt, and Crowley fell into place beside him, looking up at the place the blonde hadn’t been brave enough to venture by himself.

Crowley heard the Hufflepuff take a deep calming breath as they stood outside the threshold of Madam Puddifoot’s Café and Tea Shop. He had to cough to hide a snicker. “We’ve made it.”

The shop was covered, awning to floorboards, with pink, and lace, and frills. It was the most girly, embarrassing place he’d ever laid his reptilian eyes on – more so than even the lingerie shop he’d once gone into just for kicks. But this was the place the blonde had so desperately wanted to go. He wanted to just go in, sit down in one of the plushy pink booths, and leisurely drink his tea. This was what his courage decided he wanted the most here in Hogsmeade – and Crowley was dead-set on letting him have this. Purely for his own amusement, of course.

He could tell that Aziraphale was starting to lose the courage of the firewhiskey. One shot should really only affect you for a minute or so (Crowley, of course, was familiar with the effects so they only lasted a few seconds per shot for him now, though obviously drinking too much leads to the usual effects of alcohol, magical or not). The blonde was nervously playing with his hands as he stared at the daunting shop in front of them. Crowley clapped him on the back, “Lets do this then.”

Aziraphale paled and looked over at him in a panic, “No, no, we really don’t have to. I don’t know what came over me. This place isn’t meant – “

But Crowley kept his hand on Aziraphale’s back and pushed him forward as he swung the door in with his other hand, thus cutting off the blonde’s protests. “In we go.”

A faint bell rang as the door swung shut behind them, and a voice called out from somewhere deeper in the shop. “Have a seat dearies, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Aziraphale stammered a faint “Thank-you,” while Crowley pushed him further in the cafe. He noticed that there were two couples sitting close to the window on the right side of the shop, so Crowley turned the blonde left and towards a corner booth. The window was still visible and offered a view, but wouldn’t put them front and center on display.

Crowley sank into the cushioned seat and immediately sprawled out until his long gangly limbs were satisfied. One arm was resting along the back of the booth; his opposite leg stretched out as far as it could beneath the table. His un-stretched leg bounced up and down to keep his over-all restlessness in check, while he watched the blonde through his dark glasses.

Aziraphale, despite the deep cushions of the booth, still had his straight-backed posture. He glanced around nervously until he was satisfied that no one was watching him…well, aside from Crowley anyways. He picked up the hand-drawn menu that was placed in front of him and started reading. The blonde was always so transparent – he could tell by the time Aziraphale’s blue eyes got down maybe three rows of the menu that he’d forgotten he was supposed to be embarrassed to be here.

The embarrassment came back though the moment an elderly woman appeared at the edge of their table. Crowley saw a flash of confusion in her face – most likely due to the fact that it was not a couple on a date at her table as she was probably so accustomed too – but she quickly put on her customer service mask and told them about their seasonal special, which sounded like some sugary peppermint monstrosity to Crowley.

Aziraphale was starting to get a little pale again as he struggled to say something so Crowley took over. He gave the woman his nicest fake smile, “Could you give us a few more minutes?”

She smiled said, “Of course,” and “Take your time,” before wandering away to some of the other patrons.

“See – nothing to be scared of,” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale sent him what was probably supposed to be a mean glare, but Crowley was enjoying himself too much to see it as anything else but an encouragement. “I’m not scared,” the blonde defended, “This place is just embarrassing…it’s supposed to be for couples…”

Crowley shrugged, “Groups of girls come in here all the time, why not us?”

The blonde huffed at him but didn’t respond. His cheeks were pink again.

“What are you going to get?” Crowley asks to distract him from the environment.

The boy glanced down at his menu again and hummed to himself in thought, “It’s a toss-up between two things at this point…oh! And they have macarons. I’ll definitely want some of those.” The blonde smiled and again, Crowley wondered if he knew just how expressive he was. “Anything look good to you?” Aziraphale asked, bringing Crowley back from his thoughts.

He shrugged again. “I’m good.” He had maybe one Galleon in his pocket, the prices on the menu before him much higher than that.

“Oh come now – you treated me earlier so now it’s my turn. It’s only fair,” the blonde urged with a smile.

Crowley just stared for a second as he calculated. Technically, he drank for free at the Hogshead, so long as he didn’t go overboard. And even if Togs did take some of the money he’d normally give him after helping out for a few hours, a shot definitely wouldn’t have cost him as much as this place. Crowley didn’t like owing others.

“No, S’fine,” he tried to decline. And he would have stuck to it too, if Aziraphale hadn’t pouted. The blonde actually pouted at him, as if he were being stingy in not letting the Hufflepuff buy him something.

Crowley groaned, “Heavens’ sake, alright. Just get the two things you wanted to try and I’ll take whatever one you like the least. Happy?”

Aziraphale smiled triumphantly to himself, “That sounds like a great idea.” The boy practically wiggled in his seat. “How are you with sugary things?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aziraphale managed to order from the nice woman when she finally came back. He’d managed to calm his nerves a little, and he’s one hundred percent sure it’s because Crowley was purposefully distracting him. He ordered the two teas he’d been looking at – one called a London Fog which had always been a favorite of his, and the other a Spiced Orange Rooibos that was listed as pairing well with the almond macarons. He ordered a few servings of the French pastries because they were his absolute favorite.

He was glad Crowley had given in to his offer. Aside from the mild panic he’d felt about the alcohol earlier, Aziraphale was having a good time and it was definitely Crowley’s doing. He probably wouldn’t have done anything but curl up and read in his common room if the red-head hadn’t happened by and invited him along on this excursion. And now here he was doing something he’d always wanted to do, but hadn’t felt comfortable enough doing by himself. He could have possibly invited Anathema along, but that would make it look too much like he was giving in to his parent’s _arrangement_ for his liking; Newton was definitely out of the question as well, as his poor roommate would be even more embarrassed to come here than he was! The boy had terrible nerves, and Aziraphale wouldn’t have wanted to pressure him this much out of his comfort zone.

“So you mentioned something earlier about working for Mr. Bourish at the Inn?” Aziraphale started. He had been very curious about that – he was quite sure that students weren’t allowed jobs during the school year.

Crowley shrugged, “Just under the table stuff. I do little things and help out for a little change and the occasional drink.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“Since he first caught me trying to pilfer some butterbeer off him, second year. I paid off what I owed him and he eventually just kept telling me to come back and throwing a few coins at me whenever I was actually productive.” Crowley tapped his fingers against the table.

“You? A thief? I’m shocked, Crowley,” Aziraphale teased lightheartedly. He chose this instead of prying further. The blonde had a number of questions about his new friend, but didn’t want to make Crowley uncomfortable.

The red-head smirked, “Theft is a strong word – I much prefer to think of it as liberating items from those who won’t miss them. I’m doing them a favor, really.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “Oh I’m so sure.” He caught sight of the elderly waitress coming towards their table, tray in hand. The woman hadn’t seemed to mind the two boy’s presence in her shop, aside from her initial show of surprise (yes, Aziraphale had caught that as well), so the blonde didn’t stutter for his words this time as he thanked her for the warm drinks and sweets.

She set their orders down with practiced ease and quickly left them to their own devices.

“This looks beautiful,” Aziraphale sighed happily. He looked between the two teas he’d ordered and debated which one to try first. Eating was one of Aziraphale’s greatest pleasures in life, and had to put his best effort into not getting lost in his own thoughts because of it. He couldn’t decide where to start so he asked Crowley, “Which one should we try first?”

He watched with patience as a startled Crowley was forced to make a decision. “Uh, that one’s orange something, yeah?” the red head pointed to the deep amber rooibos after a few seconds of staring bewildered at the table.

Aziraphale smiled. ”Spiced mandarin, yes. It’s an herbal blend so no caffeine, but is should have a nice bold flavor,” The blonde loved his teas, but he found that having someone there to enjoy it with made him almost giddy. “Try it.”

Crowley tried to protest again, but after the Hufflepuff insisted, he gave in. The red-head looked a little wary but sipped slowly at the orange tea. Aziraphale watched him closely but couldn’t gage if he’d liked it or not. The Slytheryn was way too good at hiding his thoughts.

The boy took another smaller sip, then set the tea-cup down. “S’good,” Crowley said quickly.

One of the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched down. He quickly pulled the orange tea over to his side of the table and gently offered the earl gray over to Crowley. “Now this one,” he instructed. “It’s called a London Fog, but essentially it’s just a fancier earl gray with cream. I usually prefer it with breakfast, but it seemed perfect for the weather today.”

Aziraphale brought the cup of the orange tea up to his lips, but watched and waited for Crowley to try his first.

The red-head hesitated for a second before taking his first sip, Aziraphale eagerly awaiting his verdict, still holding the hot tea cup to his lips, breathing in the cozy scent of it ( _Is that a hint of nutmeg I dectect_?).

His face as stoic as the last time, Crowley lowered the cup but didn’t set it down. “This one’s sweeter – I like it,” he commented.

Aziraphale grinned, happy that he’d been able to order something his new friend liked. ”Good! You can have that one then and I’ll enjoy the rooibos.”

“But you didn’t even try this one,” Crowley protested.

The blonde ignored him while he finally tried out the tea he’d had idling by his lips. The flavors were gorgeous and full and it was definitely nutmeg that he’d smelled earlier. He hummed to himself in taste bud bliss and finally refocused his gaze on Crowley. “Oh that’s alright, dear boy, you liked that one much better than this one, right?” He took another sip of the orange tea and closed his eyes as he did so. The spices were strong, but didn’t quite overpower the subtle fruitiness of the mandarin. Yes, he was definitely glad he’d ordered this one.

When his eyes opened again he found Crowley just staring. He felt his face heat up a few shades, but just took another tiny sip at his tea and pushed the plate of pastries towards the red-head, “Macaron?

The boys drank their tea and snacked on their pastries – and good lord were those macarons _heavenly_ – in relative silence. Aziraphale really couldn’t help himself but to sigh and smile and coo over how good it all was. He did try to keep up some small semblance of a conversation with Crowley but he really couldn’t help himself when it came to food. He didn’t think Crowley minded though, as his tablemate didn’t try to bring him out of his little fits of food ecstasy. The red-head seemed contented to sip at his tea and nibble on just the one pastry. Aziraphale _had_ tried to offer him the last one, but Crowley declined with a small smirk.

“You’re enjoying them way too much for me to steal.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, but the Slytheryn boy gave him a flippant wave. “Just eat the damned thing and stop pouting, angel.”

“I don’t _pout_ ,” the blonde defended. He did end up taking the last macaron however, and savored it down to the last crumb.

After that, Aziraphale paid the nice woman (leaving her with two extra Galleons as a tip and his most sincere gratitude for the wonderful service and treats), and the two boys geared up to brave the cold weather for the walk back.

Aziraphale all but forced one of his scarves onto Crowley to at least bundle around his hands, if he wouldn’t wear it the correct way. The Slytheryn begrudgingly gave in and wrapped his hands awkwardly in the woolen fabric.

“Oh stop complaining,” Aziraphale said after listening to Crowley grumble for a minute straight while they walked along High Street back towards the windy road to the castle, “Or I’ll get you an ugly hand warmer for Christmas and force you to wear it for the rest of the break!”

It definitely stopped the red-head from complaining, but not for the reason Aziraphale had intended.

Crowley was silent for a moment while he stared at the blonde (who was beginning to think he’d said something to offend his new friend and had started to panic). It was hard to read Crowley’s expression, as usual, because of those damned sunglasses hiding the most crucial part of his face. Aziraphale had yet another urge to pull those glasses away.

“You definitely don’t need to get me anything for Christmas…I don’t really do Christmas,” Crowley finally stated.

Aziraphale cocked his head a bit to the side as he questioned, “Religious reasons?”

Crowley was silent again, but at least this time Aziraphale didn’t feel the need to panic.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to…” the blonde offered simply. He was definitely curious, but never wanted to be one to pry.

Crowley looked down at his bundled hands and started fidgeting with the scarf that was wrapped around them, and then looked ahead at the winding road they were following, footsteps once again crunching through the icy groundcover. “Well, part of it is because my Mu – my muggle half of the family is Jewish,” he started with a slight hesitation, “But we never really celebrated either religion’s holiday exactly. The other part is that I’m pretty much on my own outside of school.”

Aziraphale turned to look ahead at their path as well. He wasn’t sure how exactly to respond. He wanted to try to console him somehow, but he wasn’t sure what would help, if anything. He was honestly surprised that the boy had actually offered up such personal information.

“I know me saying sorry doesn’t really help anything,” Aziraphale started slowly, “But I am – sorry, that is. It’s hard being alone.”

He swore he could feel Crowley looking at him through his dark lenses, but kept his gaze forward. He wasn’t sure if the Slytheryn was waiting for him to talk more or what, but Aziraphale just kept walking until eventually Crowley let out a little grunt and continued to gripe about the cold. Aziraphale breathed a little easier and once again nagged Crowley about wearing proper clothes for the weather next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go - a little fluff, a little backstory - definitely shouldn't have taken me 6 months to get back to this but that's life with cripling anxiety and occasional bouts of depression I guess. Hope you enjoyed it and had a great holiday!


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